Ok Here a bit more
There was once an elf woman named Varia and an arrogant warrior called Silva. These two, who did not know each other well, came to meet in a temple one day. Silva, breathless and in pain, held a hand over his still bleeding wound as he entered the temple and approached the elf cautiously, for he needed her help this once.
"I have just come from a great battle," Silva said, in an almost whisper. "I need help, for I am wounded."
"That I see, that I see," replied Varia. "But what help can an elf be to one such as thee?"
"I beg of you, tend to my wounds. Use the magic that all elves are said to possess, then I shall reward you well."
Varia smiled and gently guided Silva to a nearby bench and helped him to lie down. She placed her hands over the wound and concentrated, closing her eyes as she did so. Minutes later, she opened her eyes once more.
“It’s not just the injury,” she said, weary from her effort. “The wound was made by a magical weapon, a magical weapon that has fallen into the hands of evil men. This reeks of the essence of the N’hadros.”
“The N’hadros are just an old tale, and not to be believed,” Silva said. “Now, heal me, then name your reward!”
“Very well,” Varia said. She placed her hand on Silva’s head this time, causing him to sleep. Then, she removed the locket from her throat and placed it on his chest.
“The full healing of this wound will take many days,” she explained to the sleeping form, “and you will be protected while you dream.” She placed her hand on the wound.
“My reward will be the final defeat of the N’hadros, and you, boastful Silva, will be the tool of that defeat.”
After making sure he was deep in the healing sleep, she stepped outside of the temple, and raised her arms, placing her hands on the carved pillar at the entrance. The temple shimmered and vanished. Where Varia stood, now stood a bowed hag dressed in rags.
Days later, Silva awoke. He quickly rose to his feet, fearing at once that the enemy should find him so vulnerable. Silva felt strangely renewed and his full strength had returned to him. Remembering the terrible wound he had suffered, he looked down, and to his great surprise found that the wound was healed. Only a scar was now visible. But how, he wondered. Ah, the elf, he finally remembered. The elf used her magic to heal the wound. But why did the elf not demand the reward he had promised? Strange indeed.
Silva looked around. He was in a place he did not recognize. It was a dark and eerie place; full of strange sounds and vapors that seemed to rise from nowhere. Frightened, he reached for his sword and drew it forward. Immediately, he knew that the sword was not the one he had carried into battle, for this sword was made of gold.
There were strange markings down the length of the blade. He did not understand them. But suddenly, the mystery of this was not important. One of the shadows separated themselves from the wall and walked toward him.
Silva crouched low, his blade at the ready. But as the figure entered the dim light, he grew more curious than alarmed. An old woman, crippled and dressed in rags, approached him.
"Ah, Silva," she said, "Awake at last, are you?"
At her words, Silva became increasingly aware of warmth growing around his neck. His free hand grasped and found a locket there. The heat was becoming uncomfortable and he pulled at the thin chain that held it.
To his surprise, the chain remained whole. He tried again with the same results.
"It won't come off, my dear Silva. Not until you have repaid your debt," the old woman cackled.
“My debt?” Silva asked. The consternation on his face quickly changed to one of surprise and wonder. “The elf! You are the elf who tended my wounds and saved my life.”
“I am many things,” the old woman replied. She carried a wooden cane and used it as she ambled slowly over to Silva. “Now, let us begin, for dawn is near and you have much to do.”
Silva, remembering who he was, filled with rage. He was not about to be ordered around by an old woman or an elf, no matter what mysterious magic powers the woman possessed. He drew himself up to his full height of seven feet. The look on his face was one of a man quite sure of himself.
"Woman, don't tell me what to do! I am a warrior and you are nothing but an elf. You have healed me, and for that I am grateful, but the price you ask is more than I can pay, and not one that I would ever agree to."
"Agree to or not, great warrior, you belong to me now. That is, until you have done my bidding."
Silva laughed at the old woman. "I belong to no one," he said.
"We shall see," said Varia.
"Enough!" Silva shouted, and headed for the door. The intense pain that seeped through his body caused him to fall to his knees. He felt as if the very life was being squeezed out of him. He looked at the old hag with both fear and confusion.
"The N'hadros have all but killed my people, warrior. There are only women and children left now. You owe me your life! And until I release you, you will do my bidding -- or you will die. Do you understand?"
Silva's vision blurred. He nodded at the elf and felt the world close in around him. Suddenly, sweet air rushed into his lungs and the pain disappeared.
"What have you done unto me, woman?" he asked.
"I am sorry," Varia said, "I've done what I had to for the sake of my people."
"Who are you?" Silva asked. "A black sorceress?"
Varia laughed. "Child, child," she said, shaking her head. "You will soon learn that the world is not so black and white."
"Stop talking in circles!" Silva shouted. "Tell me your story, and I will decide whether to help you or not. I am useless to you if I don't have the will to follow your mysterious ways. I do not fear you -- and I do not fear death."
Varia stepped closer to him, and Silva found that she was no longer an old woman. She was very beautiful indeed. Well, for an elf, Silva thought.
****
“…well, for an elf,” she echoed, smiling. She ran her hand across his chest, then poked him with a sharp fingernail.
“And you aren’t so ugly, for a human.” She stepped away and sang several clear notes. Two warhorses broke through the brush in front of them.
“We must get to Bob’s Inn before nightfall. N’hadros slime haunt these woods,” she said.
“Bob’s Inn?”
“It’s a fortress, actually. Bob is a little. . . eccentric.”
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